Germaphobe
by Lasrevinu
Summary: How I think the GSR became canon.


Disclaimer: I do not own CSI.

Spoilers: Up to _Grave Danger._

Summary: How I think the GSR became canon.

Rating: K

A/N: A lifelong nail biter, I've finally started to grow my nails. They are really long. It's hard to type.

**Germaphobe**

Being the leader was lonely. Often, Grissom found himself wishing he was one of the guys, wishing he perhaps wasn't so smart or so solitary. When Nick returned from his two-week vacation after his kidnapping, the team was once again whole. The swing shift and nightshift were reunited and it was as if, like a broken bone, they had healed together stronger than before. Stronger, and without Grissom.

He couldn't quite put his finger on when his beloved solitude had morphed from welcoming to stifling, but Gil Grissom knew the exact moment he had had enough, when he knew something had to change. It was the last straw. Literally.

He watched the team as he poured a cup of coffee in the break room. They were all sitting at the table, laughing at one of Greg's jokes. Warrick walked in, large paper shopping bags in hand. "That's the last time I go to Johnny Rockets for takeout," he groaned. "I was waiting for thirty minutes."

"Ah, but did you get my chili cheese fries?" Nick smiled.

"Yeah, yeah, with extra onions. Wouldn't want to kiss you later."

The group chuckled and began to pass around their food. Warrick was the first who seemed to notice Grissom was even in the room. "Hey, Griss – I thought you were in the field. I would've asked if you wanted something. You're welcome to half of my club sandwich – extra bacon."

He'd been in his office since before shift began. "Thanks, but I'm nuking something in the microwave." Grissom turned to watch his illuminated leftover noodles as they slowly revolved in the microwave. The team buzzed behind him, happily eating their food and discussing the amenities at the new Wynn Las Vegas.

"I heard they have a Maserati dealership," Greg exclaimed. "_In the hotel_." From the tone of his voice, Grissom could hear that the young CSI could barely contain his excitement. He never pictured Greg as a sports car fanatic. Chess, yes. Ferraris…not so much.

"Oh my God, the spa there…" Catherine sighed. "Gorgeous."

Warrick spoke up. "You've been there?"

"Yeah," Catherine said. "Sam invited me and my mom to the opening. Steve Wynn coughed up $2.7 billion dollars to build it and let me tell you, it was money well spent. We got to stay in one of the villa suites for a night. I didn't want to leave. I was honestly thinking of ways to hide so the cleaning women wouldn't see me."

"At least you got to go," Greg grumbled. "I probably won't get to see the inside of a villa suite unless it's a crime scene."

"You're not going eat your jalapeno?"

At the sound of Sara's voice, Grissom turned his head and watched her gesture to the bright green pepper resting on a napkin to Nick's right. The Texan picked it up by the stem. "Um…"

"Chicken," Sara said good-naturedly before taking a sip from her drink. Grissom watched her cheeks indent as she drew the liquid from her straw. Oh, to be that straw…

"I'm not chicken," Nick insisted.

"Come on, Nicky," Catherine urged.

He regarded the jalapeno a moment before taking a large bite out of it. Nick tossed the stem on the table and chewed quickly. "Not bad," he said, his mouth full. "It's not hot." The speedy motions of his jaw began to slow as his eyes bulged. He grabbed a napkin and put it to his lips, spitting out the contents of his mouth, gagging. Sara smiled guiltily and handed him her drink. Nick placed his lips on the straw and sucked greedily.

"You okay?"

He laughed as he wiped at his watery eyes. "Yeah. Fine," he said, handing her back her soda.

She took a sip and eyed him. "You sure?"

"How 'bout you buy me a Maserati and we'll call it even."

Sara giggled. "It'll be the first thing I do when I hit the jackpot."

Nick made a face and grabbed the drink from her hands. "Gimme that! You owe me."

And that was it. That was the moment. The casual, almost simple interaction that was sharing a drink sent Gil Grissom into a period of deep self-reflection. Such self-reflection warranted privacy. He bolted for his office as the microwave beeped.

"Hey, Griss!" Greg called out. "You forgot your food."

Grissom locked his door and drew the blinds. He closed his eyes and could see Sara's lips on the straw. She had so easily given the soda to Nick, and he had taken it without thought. He had put his lips where Sara's had been only moments before, and it was nothing to him. Nothing. Nick didn't pause and savor the intimacy. No. He just handed the drink back to Sara, not bothering to watch in wonder while she put her lips where his had just been. If it had been him…

Head in his hands, Grissom sighed. It wouldn't have been him. Sara would never playfully dare him to eat a pepper because she knew he'd only scowl at her. And he'd never accept such a dare even if she did, because he was well-aware that his taste buds were not used to such fare.

Grissom knew his limits.

And he never, ever pushed them.

But as he sat at his desk, jealous of Nick, jealous of a straw, Grissom knew he needed to.

The next night, he paired up with Sara. They worked a mob hit in the desert. Mob in-fighting pit criminal against criminal, and processing a hit rarely led to anything more than dead ends. It was mindless busy work more suited for rookies looking to perfect their technique, but it gave Grissom the opportunity to talk to Sara.

An opportunity that came and went.

He had opened his mouth to speak more times than he could count, but he couldn't find his voice. There were no directions to breaking down one's own walls, no how-to guide.

By the time the sun rose over the desert, Sara was stretching her legs and massaging her lower back. Grissom watched her lithe form, wishing he could say something, wishing some witty remark could pour off his tongue. He didn't have that skill. It was a language he didn't know how to speak. The whole world seemed to be conversing, and he was silent.

Sara walked over to the SUV and opened the trunk. She grabbed her bag and pulled out a bottle of water, twisting the cap off in a smooth motion. Grissom watched as she held the bottle to her lips and gulped the refreshing liquid down.

He stood quickly, ignoring the painful creak in his knees. This was his moment. This was it. He removed his gloves and walked over to her, wiping his sweaty hands on his hips. "Can I have a sip?"

"Hmm?"

"I…I'm thirsty. Can I have some water?"

"Oh, sure," she said, smiling at him.

This was it. This was his new beginning. His heart pounding in his chest, Grissom held out his hand and, much to his chagrin, watched as Sara pulled out another bottle of water from her bag. "It's a good thing I always carry extra."

His stomach dropped. He took the unopened, unused bottle from her and stood there, watching as she emptied her bottle and screwed the cap back on. "I guess we're done here," she said, tossing it back in her bag. "Aren't you thirsty?"

Eyes wide, Grissom looked down at the bottle in his hands. "Uh…"

"Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine."

Sara narrowed her eyes at him. "I'll drive back."

He sat back in the passenger's seat, eyes closed, utterly defeated. Life was never going to change. There'd always be an extra water bottle for him. He'd never get to share.

"Grissom…are you okay? Did the sun get to you?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Why don't you drink some water?"

He sighed, opening the bottle and taking a sip just for show.

Twenty minutes into their drive, Grissom heard Sara mutter a curse and slam at the control panel. "The AC is broken."

He opened his eyes and watched as her slim fingers fiddled with the buttons on the dashboard. Too busy wallowing over plastic straws and water bottles, he hadn't noticed the gradual warming of the air. He turned his head to see a frustrated Sara, beads of sweat beginning to gather at her temples.

"I hate this weather," she sighed, wiping her brow with one hand while the other manned the steering wheel.

Grissom eyed the water bottle in his lap. It seemed to emanate a holy glow. "Here," he said, his voice hoarse as he clumsily thrust the water at her. "Have a drink."

Sara sighed and took it. He watched as she put the bottle to her lips, wrapping them around the neck so they could funnel the liquid into her waiting mouth. Her audible gulps seemed to be in time with his heartbeat. She handed the bottle back to him and he examined it, feeling an intense thrill at the sight of her lipstick stain on the clear plastic.

Grissom kept his eyes on her profile as he brought the bottle to his lips and drank.

"We should go on a date."

THE END


End file.
